


impulse control

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Doorwings, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: Manners in Praxus say don't touch the doorwings; Jazz can't help himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For sealachii, who requested Prowl/Jazz doorwings fluff with no smut whatsoever - so I took extra time figuring out how to write a fic without stuffing smut into it. :P
> 
> Contains a lot of worldbuilding and headcanons for how pre-war Praxus works, and in a sense this works as a prelude kind of fic to the big Prowl/Jazz crime fic I want to write someday, who knows. This is standalone, though! Enjoy!

Praxus: a city full of temptations for the curious mech. It's nearly impossible for Jazz to keep his hands to himself, moreso when he quickly learns that Praxian doorwings are some of the most sophisticated sensory nets on Cybertron.

Simply walking down a street in this bustling metropolis is like walking into a room full of big red buttons labeled do not touch. It's terrible and exciting all at once.

And then there's Prowl, the mech he's assigned to. Several of the Praxians he's met in the city so far have been very gracious with the tourist, allowing him to delicately tap certain areas of their wings to see how they twitch and jump away from the touch. As long as he'd obeyed directions, he'd been allowed a little careful exploration.

Prowl knows he's been through orientation and that he's spent the initial allowance of tolerance given to a tourist. Prowl gives him flat looks whenever he even hints at wanting to touch.

"So," Jazz asks while he's shadowing Prowl out on one of his patrols. "Why _are_ you so touchy about your wings? Is it just personal preference, or is there something else going on that I don't know about yet?"

A set of Prowl's lights flash red at him, a warning he ignores, sidling up alongside Prowl as he waits for an answer. If Prowl's paying any attention to his field, he doesn't show it. Not that means anything, yet.

"Yeah, I know, they're sensitive. Wouldn't you want more mechs to touch 'em, then? Build up a little tolerance to the sensory load, and enjoy it. Seems like a clean deal to me."

"I am not you," Prowl says, which could mean half a dozen things. It's weird for him to be so cagey, but then Jazz's leaning hard on something that's likely intensely personal.

"Is it coding related?" Jazz asks, bypassing whatever it is Prowl's trying to tell him. He's risking reassignment to another Enforcer, and the bounds of Prowl's patience, but hey: sometimes he has to shake a mech to see what falls out.

Red flashes at him as they smoothly merge into a turn lane, leaving one district for another. Orange lights pass over them as they move through a tunnel, contrasting sharply with the bright white of the city. They're in one of the richer districts now, moving down well-maintained streets, past empty walkways and quiet domiciles. They slow down as they cruise through a park, and Jazz abandons his needling to admire the way Prowl's frame lights up under the brighter splashes of light here.

If he looks up he can see the intricate array of crystals and mirrors that some architect set up to turn this recreational area into a work of art: starlight has been gathered and directed so it fills this place with light, making several sculptures cast harsh shadows that add to the artwork itself - lots of contrasts, lots of sharp divides.

It makes Jazz feel uneasy, but that's Praxus for you: bright and full of clean lines and armed with the planet's most intricate legal code.

Prowl answers him as they complete the circumnavigation of the park, finding an exit and moving into another quiet neighborhood.

"My doorwings contain more than a sensory net. They've been fitted with a set of hardware unique to me that extends my tactical net. Sensory-wise they're on par with the rest of the department's equipment. The data I receive, however, is analyzed to a finer degree."

"...Huh," Jazz says. Broad language instead of specifics, promising more secrets than he's being trusted with. "I dig it."

Prowl doesn't answer him, silent as they leave the neighborhoods, moving back into a commercial district.

Jazz lets him be for a spell, enjoying the sights and sounds and even the chase as they interrupt a snatch-and-grab and engage in a little law enforcement.

It's not until the end of the shift that he asks: "So can I touch you? I can handle being analyzed."

"No," Prowl says as he transforms, crossing his arms as Jazz follows suit.

"Fair enough," Jazz says. Prowl gives him a long, stern look before he turns to walk into the building, and Jazz follows, optical band trained on the way Prowl's wings flick and twitch as they walk, then hold still.

Put a curious mech in a room with a big button labeled don't touch...

He reaches out, nudging his fingertip against the edge of one wing, making Prowl twitch and go rigid.

"Sorry," Jazz says, not entirely sorry. "Couldn't help myself."

Prowl turns, expression stony, and Jazz raises his hands. Utter silence.

Prowl gestures for Jazz to take the lead, and Jazz gives him a sheepish smile as he moves to lead them back into the precinct.

Maybe he'll have more luck if he gets Prowl to relax first, next time...


End file.
